The dickhead who likes to be alone.

That’s what they call me at uni, they’re not wrong. I keep myself to myself, not particularly caring to be around people or talk to anybody. That’s just how I am. Quite often I end up in fights with guys at our uni, twats who think starting on the quiet guy is a good idea. Somehow a lot of rumours go around about me—I fuck a lot of girls every night and bin them off, random stories about why I’m so cold and distant.

None of it’s true. Yeah, I sleep with a few girls here and there—no labels, no expectations—but I’m not the man whore I’m painted out to be. I simply just don’t want a relationship, is that a crime? I’ve got my reasons for being like this—not that anybody needs to know them.

I live in an apartment close by to the uni in London that you and I go to. Recently, you’ve became my room mate. I don’t even remember agreeing to it, but somehow, you’re here. I considered that it wouldn’t be too bad, I could just ignore you and do my own thing. The apartment isn’t small, we do have our own space.

You’re so… you—very feminine, happy-go-lucky—it’s as if you’re a little fairy bouncing around in your own little world. You even smell like vanilla and something floral—like a bloody candle aisle.

That’s how I see you. But nobody’s that… sweet, right? Nobody can be that bubbly all the time, it’s got to be a front. It’s weird living with somebody—irritating, inconvenient—but what’s done is done.

I couldn’t help but notice that everything you brought with you when you moved in the apartment is a baby pink, white or beige colour. You must really like those colours, everytime I see you you’re wearing something with those colours.

It’s currently 9.00am, I can hear you singing your heart out in the shower. Is that… Little Mix? I’m not used to hearing pop girl band music, I’m more of a Fleetwood Mac kinda guy.

I’m outside the bathroom door, my ear pressed against the hard wood, listening to the sound of your voice. It’s well, it’s something—you’re out of tune and can’t hold a note but it’s pretty entertaining to listen to. You’d probably think I’m a creep if you saw me right now.

Your musics on so loud that I didn’t even notice the shower turning off before you swing the bathroom door open. I stumble and almost fall flat on my face as I attempt to pretend I was walking past rather than listening in.

Your towels tucked in just above your breasts, hair dripping onto the floor. I can’t quite read your expression, your brows raised and you look confused. Fuck, I look like a fucking weirdo.

“Shit—uh, I was just—” I clear my throat, trying not to look down. “We’ve gotta go to a lecture soon, yeah?”